


lavender blush

by staalesque



Series: lofi lovers ▹ patrice/tuukka [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, Communication, Developing Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Trans Character, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staalesque/pseuds/staalesque
Summary: He and Patrice haven’t gotten much further than their first makeout. Patrice still doesn’t know that he’s trans; if he has any suspicions, he hasn’t pressed, for which Tuukka is incredibly grateful. He has seen the frustration, a little, when he cuts things short or pushes Patrice away a little to give himself some time. It’s not that he thinks Patrice is going to be a dick about anything, but Tuukka likes to know what’s going on, and the truth remains that Patrice is his first for a lot of things. His first since he’d begun this journey, to be sure. Undergrad had been filled with a myriad of other, more complicated events; dating hadn’t been all that much on his mind.How should he do it, though? He could have a conversation with him -- talk through what it means, answer any questions that Patrice might have. He could invite him over when he has to do his shot; pretty self explanatory at that point. He could treat it like nothing; he could treat it like everything. The options are limitless and that paralyzes Tuukka, because there’s so many options he’s sure to pick the wrong one.





	lavender blush

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a long time coming - just over a year, in fact. i hope it's worth the wait! 
> 
> unbeta'd, i wanted this to get to you as fast as possible! (which still took over a year, and for that, i'm sorry). also please do leave comments on this one; because a year has passed, my writing style may have changed a little? and if this half is no longer cohesive with the first half, _please_ let me know, so i can make edits !!

Fall break, when not an undergrad student, means nearly nothing. To Tuukka, however, it’s a chance for more raw material. He gets a few extra days to sleep in, but uses the time to take advantage of the increased population for some more varied shots. 

His favorite one, currently, is a night shot at a student concert. Elaine had snuck him backstage, and he’d grabbed a few of the artists relaxing in their prep spaces, spread out in front of the fans and guzzling down water. He has one of Elaine herself, sitting upside down on a couch, her green hair coiled on the floor. She’s laughing at something that someone said, bracketed between two DJ’s for the night, who were also laughing. Everyone is covered in body glitter, ripped stockings and a bra for Elaine, tight muscle tees and ripped skinny jeans for the DJ’s. 

He’s been working on it for several hours at this point. He wants to get it perfect, mostly for Elaine. She likes cross posting his stuff on her Facebook, and occasionally using her position on the student activities board to spread the word about his work. Last October, he’d been asked to photograph some of the speeches and events hosted on campus as a part of LGBT History Month. Doing it again, and taking a light commission from the communications office, would be a great boost going into the holiday season. 

Tuukka unfolds his legs from the cricket-like position he’s in, wincing a little bit as he works them under the coffee table. At some point he should really stop, maybe work on his actual homework instead. He runs his fingers over the bar of his industrial as he thinks, wondering if it’s worth it to text Patrice and ask if he wanted to meet up. 

Things between them have sort of evolved. They have a standing study date on Wednesday and Friday afternoons in the library, after Tuukka gets out of work, always at the same table on the fourth floor. Occasionally they meet up on the weekend, when Patrice’s volunteering and secretary jobs don’t take up his work day. And they’ve made out a few times, both at Tuukka’s place and, notably, in a bathroom at another party. He’s not particularly proud of that one, but it did leave him with a nice set of bites along his neck. 

Those were a bit hard to explain to his boss. 

He has his phone in his hand, about to text Patrice, when his front door flies open, revealing a jean clad leg and bright red Converse. 

“You kick my door down again, I’m making you pay for the replacement paint job,” Tuukka deadpans, opening up his texts. 

“Is that any way to greet your favorite gay dads?” Brad replies, swaggering in with Torey behind him. Torey’s a bit more subdued as he closes the door, out of some modicum of respect he still has for Tuukka. 

“We’ve been over this, you’re an older cousin, at best.” 

Brad laughs, and ruffles Tuukka’s hair as he comes over, looking over his shoulder at his current project. Tuukka reaches up to answer Torey’s broshake, even as Brad moves his curls too close to his eyebrows for his liking. They don’t get caught in his eyebrow piercing, though, so he can’t be too mad. 

“Looks good, man,” Torey says, motioning to the photos on Tuukka’s screen. 

“Thanks. What brings you two here?” 

“What, we can’t come by just because we care?” Brad asks, furrowing his brows as he looks down at Tuukka. Tuukka levels him with a flat look in response, and the Canadian sighs. “We actually  _ were  _ hoping to hang out, but if you’re busy we can jet.”

“No, no. I actually,” he quickly presses command+S and closes Photoshop, “was just about to take a break. You guys are welcome to stay.” 

Brad grins and kicks off his Converse, tossing them in a generic direction towards the shoe pile at the front door. Torey follows his lead, but when Brad drops down onto the couch and does his damndest to take the whole thing up, Torey decides to take the floor. 

“So,” Torey begins, “a little mouse told me that you’re seeing this guy?” 

Tuukka blushes, and turns to look at Brad, who has the audacity to shrug and try to look innocent. “I...wouldn’t call it that.” 

“Well I hear that you almost reenacted me and Brad’s coming out last weekend.” 

“At least it wasn’t at our own party when we were  _ supposed  _ to be cleaning up,” Tuukka replies, worming his way out from under the table. “Because unlike some people, I can stay on task.” 

Torey laughs, and puts his hands up in mock surrender as Tuukka walks into the kitchen. “Okay, okay. But who is he?” 

“His name’s Patrice, and he’s a second year in grad school like me. He’s studying in Literature.” He’d recently been shopping, yet the contents of his fridge no longer make sense as meals. “What the fuck,” he whispers to himself as he pulls out a few bags of vegetables. It’s possible he can just make stir fry? Maybe? 

“And he’s also texting you,” Brad calls from the other room. Tuukka knows that Brad’s not that nosey that he’d read the text out loud, but he also might read the text for himself. He jogs into the other room and plucks his phone out of Brad’s hand, gently smacking the back of his head. 

“Paws off,” he mutters, swiping into the message. 

_ whats ur day lookin like? _

He can’t help the small smile that moves over his face.  _ Nothing too big; I’ve been doing edits all day. _

His response comes quite quickly:  _ ooo!! tht sounds exciting!! _

There’s a moment of pause, and then Tuukka asks, “Would you guys mind it if he came over?” 

“What, like a booty call? Or, like, a meet the friends kind of thing?” Brad asks from where he’s sprawled out on the couch. 

“Could be either,” Tuukka replies, walking back into the living room and leaning against the wall. He types a few different versions of the message, before going with his first attempt.  _ Want to come over and see some of them? Also my friend and his boyf are here, if that, like, affects your choice. _

“Well, we’d be honored to meet him, isn’t that right Tor?” 

“You know more about him than I do. But why not, I can meet the boyfriend’s best friend’s boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tuukka immediately corrects. He gets an excited series of exclamation marks, before a  _ hell yeah, count me in  _ comes with yet another sparkly heart emoji. 

“That remains to be proven,” Torey wisely replies. “Anyway, I’m hungry. Think you could spare something?” 

“Dude I barely have enough food here for myself. Do you want pizza?” 

This proved to be the wrong question to ask. Not because neither Torey nor Brad wanted pizza, but because they’d apparently recently discovered pickles on pizza as a “hotter, spicier take on the pineapple pizza debate.” Brad’s all in favor of trying it, and Torey -- usually the calmer of the two -- has finally put his foot down about something. As a result, the two of them are bickering at each other about why pickles on pizza would or wouldn’t be a good order. 

Tuukka’s not even sure if the place he usually orders from even has pickles as an option.

His phone buzzes in his hand, another text from Patrice arriving.  _ should i just let myself in? or should i knock  _ followed by the see no evil monkey emoji. 

“What about a small pickle and cheese pizza and then a larger one with normal toppings?” Tuukka offers, interrupting the arguing couple.  _ Just come in. _

“Sure. I’ll Venmo you for this idiot’s order,” Torey says, interrupting whatever Brad was about to offer. 

“Can it be vegetarian?”

All three men turn to look at the source of the new voice. Patrice is standing in the open doorway with an incredibly soft looking, too-large pale mint green sweater that hangs off of one well muscled shoulder. His dark roots are visible, though the same mint green from before is still the color of the majority of his hair. It’s like a reverse ombre, going from dark to light in an upward scale. Black leggings, sneakers, and the strap of a black bralette tie off the outfit, along with a white windbreaker that he adds to the hook beside Tuukka’s collection of jackets. There’s also an additional backpack on the floor by the shoe pile, one that Tuukka recognizes from several weeks of meeting up for their study sessions.

He finds himself completely caught on the subtle shadow cast by the bralette strap, pulled free from the curve of his shoulder by the sharp step of his collarbone. He knows the noises Patrice makes when his lips brush against that spot, knows intimately how it feels beneath his fingertips, knows immediately he wants to sink his teeth into that spot and make him gasp.

Patrice has his weight primarily on one leg, his hip slightly cocked even as his hands are clasped in front of him, barely visible given the large sleeves on his sweater. He’s staring at Tuukka, abruptly reminding the Finn he hasn’t actually answered the question.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Um, guys this is Patrice, we had a class together last semester. Pat, this is Brad, I’ve told you about him, and this is Torey, Brad’s boyfriend.” 

Pat gives a little wave, which each of the boys return, and Tuukka’s heart clenches a little bit. He’s saved from having to do more talking as Brad lets out a low whistle. 

“You’re  _ adorable.  _ Like, I know you’re probably older than me, but you’re  _ so _ cute.” He sits up off the couch as he sets in on the patented Brad Marchand Friendship Technique: Flirt With Them Until They Love You. The only people it hadn’t worked on completely were the two other people in the room; Tuukka didn’t know how to respond at all to the attention, and Torey had wound up dating him instead of just being friends. 

Patrice, with all the grace he’s known for, takes the compliment with a blush and a smile. “Well, thank you.”

Tuukka gives Brad a warning look out of the corner of his eye, but it’s softened by the soft click of the front door closing. Patrice comes over to the trio, softly confident in his steps, though Tuukka knows better. He’s hesitating, but Tuukka doesn’t know why. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“Anytime. Where’d you get your shirt? My sisters have been looking for something similar.” Brad presses on, effortlessly carrying the situation, as per usual. 

“Oh, this? It’s a hand-me-down, my sister-in-law gave it to me. I can ask her, but it might be a Montreal place.” 

“I’m not far from there! Here, sit and talk.” He scoots to the further end of the couch, so he’s sitting directly behind Torey now, his legs bracketing his boyfriend’s shoulders. Torey looks up at him, murmurs something soft, catching Brad’s attention. 

During the brief interlude, Patrice looks up at Tuukka, quietly mouthing,  _ do they know about us?  _ and gesturing between them. Tuukka blushes and makes a so-so motion with his hand, but takes Patrice’s hand in his and tugs him gently over to the couch. Patrice folds into the couch cross-legged, while Tuukka manspreads beside him, scrolling until he finds the pizza option he wants. 

In the end, they order one small pizza with cheese and pickles, one medium margherita pizza with olives and green peppers, an order of garlic knots, and an order of spicy wings. Tuukka has enough drinks to satisfy the wide variety of requests -- strawberry milk, water, beer, and soda -- and when pressed why exactly he had strawberry milk, he simply shrugged. Patrice’s blush, however, probably gave it away. 

* * *

“There’s something deeply human about the way people cluster together, a sea of consciousness, bonded by a singular moment of collective consciousness. We’ve all decided that this place is the optimal place to congregate with our respective needs -- a job search, a study session, squad meet ups -- but we’ve had these thoughts planted so long ago. But who did the planting? Who decided? It’s crazy, man.” 

Tuukka looks up, grey eyes dulled by the impromptu bullshit lecture flowing forth from Jaro’s mouth. “Uh huh.” 

Jaro looks up, a similar expression on his face. “Listen man, I’m just trying to make this interesting. You haven’t gotten to human behavior yet.” 

“Technically  _ all  _ philosophy is human behavior.” 

“No, we’ve talked about your classes. You’re studying, like. How people killed God, and why we have to wear clothes, and all that other bullshit.  _ I’ve  _ got to legitimize people’s suffering through a collective lens.” He pauses, blinks in shock. “Shit, wait, that was good.” 

Tuukka snorts and leaves Jaro to scratch down his thoughts on a post-it, badly faded from being kicked around in the bowels of his backpack for so long. The dozen donuts they’d ordered at the start of their study session have dwindled down to one and a half, most of them eaten by Jaro once the munchies hit. Tuukka’s halfway to actually understanding what Zee wants from him in this upcoming exam, but symbolic logic was never his strong suit. He looks over at Jaro, brows furrowing a little. 

Jaro isn’t a  _ big  _ guy, nor is he as tattooed and pierced as Tuukka is, but he does have a lip ring and that’s been on Tuukka’s mind for a little bit. He thinks he’s pretty good at gauging his healing process, especially since he’s put his body through the ringer a couple times, but he’s more concerned because it’s his  _ mouth.  _ Though maybe it will keep him from biting at his lips, as he’s so often willing to do. 

“How long did that take to heal?” he asks, pointing his pen at the silver ring around Jaro’s lower lip. 

“What, this? Like….two months, ish? Why, thinking of getting one?” He flicks his tongue over the silver ring, brows raising. 

“Maybe. I dunno if its a good time.” 

“Why, new boyfriend?” 

Tuukka blushes, about to refute the claim, but that’s all Jaro needs. He looks away with a satisfied smirk, back to his computer screen. He’s browsing Twitter, it’s not like he’s doing anything important, but Tuukka knows he’ll somehow pull together a halfway decent project before the deadline. It’s like how Brad used to be. 

“Well. I don’t mean to assume anything or really  _ care  _ to know the answer to this, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one “in charge,” so to speak. So what does it really matter? You don’t have to use your mouth.” 

He knows he means well, but sometimes Jaro says things that make Tuukka want to punch him. He’s approaching his second strike of the afternoon. 

“Yes and no. But this isn’t really the place to talk about it,” he mutters, looking around the Dunkin they’re currently stationed in. The two of them have commandeered a set of couches in the back corner, kind of out of the way, but there’s still a few people within listening distance. He hopes it’s lost under the hum and beep of ovens and coffee percolating, the chit chat between employees and customers, but there’s one or two people that have made eye contact with each other. 

Jaro doesn’t seem to notice though, his attention span having crumbled once again as he goes back to scrolling through Twitter. 

In the relative silence, Tuukka has a moment to reflect.

He and Patrice haven’t gotten much further than their first makeout. Patrice still doesn’t know that he’s trans; if he has any suspicions, he hasn’t pressed, for which Tuukka is incredibly grateful. He has seen the frustration, a little, when he cuts things short or pushes Patrice away a little to give himself some time. It’s not that he thinks Patrice is going to be a dick about anything, but Tuukka likes to know what’s going on, and the truth remains that Patrice is his first for a lot of things. His first since he’d begun this journey, to be sure. Undergrad had been filled with a myriad of other, more complicated events; dating hadn’t been all that much on his mind. 

He knows, in theory, what he’s comfortable with. Through a mix of personal exploration and a couple deep dives into Tumblr tags (not the best place for information, but one of the most accessible) he’d figured out what he’s more or less comfortable with. Terminology, mostly, but he knows what he likes touched -- he’s just not sure if he’d like it if someone  _ else  _ were to be touching him in those places. Patrice is a safe first option, because so far he hasn’t made Tuukka feel uncomfortable in any way. But maybe it’s the fear of reality falling short of his hopes; that the guy he’d found himself falling for was less than ideal, less than perfect. He doesn’t want to open himself up to that painful possibility; he doesn’t want to let Patrice have the upper hand. 

Guilt comes soon after. He’d be crazy to expect Patrice to react negatively, in any sort of way; he’s been nothing but kind and respectful to him since they’d begun. Anxiety remains, but he thinks it always will. It’s part of the excitement, or so people have told him. 

How should he do it, though? He could have a conversation with him -- talk through what it means, answer any questions that Patrice might have. He could invite him over when he has to do his shot; pretty self explanatory at that point. He could treat it like nothing; he could treat it like everything. The options are limitless and that paralyzes Tuukka, because there’s so many options he’s sure to pick the wrong one. 

He opens up iMessage on his computer, firing off a quick text to Brad.  _ I need older cousin advice.  _

He doesn’t expect an immediate answer. Both Brad and Torey have work today, but Brad tends to be able to get away with some messaging on the side at his work. Torey’s in a practical lock down, but he’s dealing with unpublished manuscripts, so some privacy is key. 

Looking up, he catches Jaro reaching distractedly into the donut box. Sometime in his introspection, Jaro had finished off the remainder of the donuts, which means his probing fingers are met with nothing but leftover frosting and discarded sprinkles. The Slovak looks at Tuukka, a pout coming over pierced lips. Tuukka sighs and stands, taking the box to the garbage and getting back in line. 

“It’s going on your card though,” he mutters as his phone chirps, alerting him to a new text. It’s from Brad. 

_ i’m going on my lunch soon; wanna meet up?  _

_ I’m at the Dunkin by my place. Studying with Jaro.  _

_ lmaoooooo you got him out of bed for this?  _

_ He had to be up for class anyway. Just tell me where you want to go.  _

_ the sammich place _

With anyone else, that’s not a specific enough location to guide Tuukka to where he should be going. But it takes him back to one night when they, drunk out of their minds, had decided that life would be better if the word “sammich” was socially acceptable. They’d almost gotten kicked out for their nonsense in the market, but the food was great and was what they wanted. It’s about a 15 minute walk from the Dunkin he’s currently in, and he doesn’t really have the funds for an Uber. 

_ Kinda far for me; it’s nbd, we can talk later.  _

_ if it’s srs, i can call? _

Brad knows Tuukka hates talking on the phone; technically they both do, but not for the reason one would think. It’s his turn in the line and he comes up to the counter, placing the order for another half dozen double chocolate donuts and a box of munchkins, cinnamon and powdered. He pays for it with Jaro’s card, as threatened earlier, and as they hand the boxes over to him his phone goes off with another text from Brad. 

_ what’s it abt?  _

He sets the boxes down on the table, giving Jaro’s rather excited look a sarcastically gracious bow. 

_ Pat & I. Trans stuff. I don’t know how to tell him and there’s a lot of different ways and it’s stressing me out.  _

He sees the grey bubble pop up, the dots going over and over, before it finally disappears. His screen is filled with Brad’s contact image, a rather unflattering selfie with just the top half of his head in front of TD Garden from two years ago. Tuukka sighs and stands again. 

“Be right back, I have to take this.” 

Jaro waves him off, four munchkins already in his mouth.

Tuukka heads outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin after a lengthy stay in the air conditioning. “Hey.” 

“Hi! Yeah! Let’s talk about that!” Brad’s equal parts excited and serious, and Tuukka knows he made the right choice, but he’s not ready for this high energy of a conversation. 

“I just don’t know what to tell him. Also where are you?” 

“Running up the stairs as fast as my tiny legs can take me. But seriously, start talking.” 

Tuukka hears the sound of Brad taking the stairs, probably two at a time, up out of the train station. He can’t blame him; the lunch rush of people is awful. 

“It started with a lip ring, actually. I was thinking of getting one, and asked Jaro about it--”

“Oh, what did that dumbass say now?” 

“Hey! He’s fine, I just wanted to know the healing time and stuff. He said it takes like two months, and I guess I made a face.” 

“And that’s where you and Patrice came in, huh.” Brad’s breathing is somewhat labored, and where he is gets louder all of a sudden, but then it gets a little quieter. “Sorry, truck passed. I don’t know if you heard me.” 

“I caught none of that.” 

“Right, well. Basically I just said that my advice is to do it when you feel it’s right. He doesn’t have to know just because someone else thinks he should know. Especially when that someone is usually high as a kite.” 

Tuukka has to admit that’s usually the case. Gnawing at his lower lip, he presses himself back a little, so he’s not in the main area of the sidewalk. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just feel like I’m lying to him.” 

Brad makes an unhappy noise on the other end of the phone, but before he can get on his soapbox Tuukka cuts him off. 

“I know, I know, it’s not lying. I said I’m a guy and, and I  _ am _ a guy. I know.” He runs a hand through his hair, sighing a little. “I just feel bad constantly pushing things back and not giving him a reason.” 

“You’re allowed to say no without having to give him a reason, you know. It’s all about your comfort level. Has he, like, pressed or anything?” 

Tuukka makes a flat noise, indicating that no, he hasn’t. 

“Then it’s fine! Honey, you can’t put words in his mouth, that’s not fair to him, and it’s also not fair to you. It’s - Hey, how you doing, good to see you! - It’s something you’re just going to have to talk to him about.” 

Tuukka is used to Brad getting caught with half conversations through their normal ones, and it’s not too off-putting anymore. “I know, I know.” 

“Invite him over for dinner, you know he can eat. Practically put away the whole pizza by himself.” 

“Hmph...yeah. Yeah, I should.” 

“Do it! It’s less pressure, it’s already at your place; frame it as a study date. Does he have work today?” 

“Yeah, I think he had a morning class. Should be getting out of work--” He’s cut off by the sudden feeling of something grabbing him just below his ribs but above his hips, at the thinnest part of his waist. It’s like two crab claws pushing in, however briefly; not really a  _ grab,  _ but not quite a pinch either. The giveaway is that it’s accompanied by a very familiar voice. 

“BOO!” 

“ _ Saatana,  _ Patrice, what-!” Tuukka turns around and Patrice is laughing, but comes in for a hug anyway, gently pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I got out of work early! I was walking home but saw that you were here; thought I’d swing by.” His brows furrow and he looks askance, a small blush highlighting gently glimmering cheeks. “Is that creepy? I feel like that’s a little creepy.” 

“Just a little bit.” Tuukka holds up his thumb and forefinger a smidge apart to emphasize his words, even as Brad is yelling in the phone “No it’s not it’s adorable!” 

“Bye Brad, we’ll talk later.” 

“Oh, is that Brad? Tell him I say hi.” 

“You better ask him to dinner, Tuuks, I’ll be forever pissed if you don’t.” 

Tuukka rolls his eyes, settling one arm over Patrice’s shoulders. “He says hi, and I’m hanging up now.” 

“But-!” 

“ _ Bye Brad. _ ” He ends the call and tucks his phone back into his pocket, looking down at Patrice with very poorly concealed genuine excitement, only to get pulled into another soft kiss. 

“Was this a bad time? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just wanted to see you.” He’s dressed for work, with black skinny jeans and a burgundy sweater in a similar style to what he was wearing the first time he’d met Brad and Torey, complete with a small black backpack. Dark brown eyeliner forms a small wing; enough to be overlooked, if one isn’t staring at his face. 

He’s hot. 

“No, that’s fine. I came here to study some, I stepped out to talk to Brad. Um.” Brad’s advice comes back to him, and he thinks he should ask now, in case Patrice wants to change or anything. “Would you…if you don’t have plans, or anything, do you want to come over for dinner?” 

Patrice smiles, one of those that lets the tips of his teeth poke through, just a little. “Yeah, I would. Is this a double date thing?” 

“I don’t think so? I mean, I can invite them, but I think Torey has a night off so they might just want to stay in.” Putting it lightly, of course, but they can’t help it that Torey’s schedule is hard on them both. 

“Okay. Well, I’d love to anyway! I have some work I need to finish up but I can be over afterwards?” 

He nods, relieved that this is actually going to happen, but anxious now that it’s  _ actually going to happen.  _ “Yeah! Of course, just text me when you’re heading over? I need to pick up some stuff anyway.” 

Brown eyes widen, and Tuukka, belatedly, realizes he’s wearing mascara as well. “If it’s going to be a hassle, I don’t want to impose.” 

This Canadian politeness will be the death of him. “You’re not imposing. I needed to go shopping anyway. Go do your work and I’ll do mine, okay? Don’t worry about it.” 

Patrice gives him a look that’s assessing and something else, something that makes Tuukka vaguely aware of a charge in the conversation, a tension that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was always there, and he’s just now being made aware of it. Patrice reaches up to run a hand through mint dyed hair; Tuukka belatedly realizes his nails are painted a deep orange, a very autumnal color. 

“Okay, well, keep an eye out for my text. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” He leans up on his tiptoes, and Tuukka leans down to meet him halfway. That kiss has a little bit more tongue than he’s expecting, but when they pull away he’s not the only one breathing a little harder. Patrice bites his lower lip and looks him up and down -- though in a white tank top and black joggers, he doesn’t quite get what he could be looking at. “See you tonight.” 

“Yeah…” The word is softly murmured as Patrice takes his leave, leaving Tuukka more than a little star struck. What has he gotten himself into? 

_ Well, I have dinner plans for tonight. Wish me luck. _

Brad texts him back twenty minutes later, with the thumbs up, eggplant, and water droplet emojis. 

_ I hate you.  _

He gets a wink in response.

* * *

Tuukka knows how to make a handful of things, but very few of them could be considered proper meals. He’s great for potlucks, always having something he can make for appetizer, salad, a main course, or dessert, but he’s usually at a loss for coming up with a full meal. Now with a vegetarian to cook for, he has to be a little more creative. Falling back on one he’s quite familiar with, he ducks into a Whole Foods and stocks up on what he needs. He’ll just brown the spicy sausage on the side as an additional topping, but the rest of the meal is vegetarian. He winds up making his own garlic butter spread that he slathers on a baguette, wrapping it in tinfoil and sliding it into the oven to make garlic bread. The gnocchi and all vegetables therein are fine as they are, in a one-pot meal set up. 

He waits to prepare that part until he gets Patrice’s text. He also waits until he gets Patrice’s text to make a step that’s a little more important for he himself. For this meal, at least, and the ensuing conversation, he’s not wearing his packer. The lack of weight between his legs doesn’t trigger any dysphoria like it used to, a fact he’s rather proud of. It helps that sometimes, when he’s not leaving his apartment, he won’t bother with it, out of comfort. That and, in the words of Brad, to “let things breathe.” 

So, it’s multifaceted, he supposes. 

He’s also still in joggers from before, and they don’t show all that much, but he doesn’t know what Patrice’s observations are going to be. Would he realize? Would he ask? The whole point is to have an open conversation, though, so maybe that’s the starting point? 

He sighs a little as he stirs the sauce to make sure it doesn’t burn to the pan. This is  _ good.  _ This is a  _ good  _ idea and he’ll know, for better or for worse, where the situation between he and Patrice is going. Hopefully to a better place. 

There’s a polite knock on the door as it opens. From his angle he can’t see the front door -- the kitchen is too far to the side -- but he calls out “In here!” anyway. 

A few seconds later, Patrice skates over. Tuukka uses that word deliberately, because Patrice is sliding over the hardwood in just his socks, having left his shoes at the door. He has some gum in his mouth, chewing on it through a wide smile as he approaches, wrapping his arms around Tuukka’s waist. He snuggles up, resting his cheek on Tuukka’s shoulder, looking down at the various pots of simmering food. 

“Holy shit this looks so good! I didn’t know you could cook.” 

Tuukka blushes, briefly settling his cheek atop Patrice’s head. “I know a few things, here and there. It’s nothing much.” 

Patrice carefully opens the smallest pot, not on an active burner, just warming the contents. It’s the one containing the sausage. “What’s in -- oh you didn’t have to separate your food for me.” 

“What am I going to do, make something you can’t eat?” The idea of making something only for himself, after he’s the one who invited Patrice over in the first place, is ludicrous. “C’mon, it’s basically finished.” 

He’s still nervous, but he’s trying not to let it show. So far Patrice hasn’t looked at him strangely at all; he’s still the same affectionate guy that he always is, and it feels both good and terrifying. Like this is the before moments, before some insurmountable tragedy strikes. As if the contents of his truth are going to push Patrice away, and maybe that’s the biggest thing. He stopped being so fixated on his gender and presentation in the last year, moving up into graduate school and seeing none of the same faces through undergrad. His past graduated and left him, and he only had to be his true authentic self through graduate school. Now he’s peeling back the layers, with someone who  _ matters,  _ who he  _ really  _ likes, and it’s the vulnerability that’s scary. 

He feels like he’s 18 again, Googling beneath the covers in the dusk darkness of Finnish summers, “why do I feel wrong inside?” He feels young and inexperienced, and it’s entirely because Patrice matters and he really,  _ really  _ wants him to like him when all of this is said and done. 

Patrice, for his part, doesn’t comment on Tuukka’s slight distance. They get through dinner, Patrice basically carrying the conversation as he is wont to do, while Tuukka tries to think about the best way to come clean about this. 

A voice, suspiciously similar to Brad’s, yells in his head,  _ You’re not coming clean about shit! You’re just letting him in, you haven’t LIED at all.  _

Patrice clears the plates and silverware, setting them into the sink to soak. Afterwards, he pours them both a top off of their wine, and gives Tuukka a purposeful look. “Dinner was delicious, and very considerate, and I thank you for that. But I know you. What’s on your mind?” 

“Busted, huh?” He smiles shyly, but his heart is racing and he honestly thinks he might pass out. “Um...yeah, I have been meaning to tell you something.” 

Patrice lightly wedges the cork back into the wine bottle, and comes around to the other side of the island, taking his seat from dinner again. He furrows his brows, giving Tuukka an evaluative look. “This isn’t going to be one of those,  _ it’s not you, it’s me,  _ talks, is it?” 

“N...well, yeah? Kind of? It’s not, I’m not, like, breaking up with you, I just. Needed to tell you some things.” This is going great, but Patrice gestures for him to keep talking as he takes a sip of his wine, and suddenly Tuukka doesn’t know what to say. 

Patrice, bless him, is patient enough to wait it out. He rests with one elbow on the counter, legs crossed and completely facing Tuukka. He’s in the same black jeans from before, and a faded Bruins shirt that he’s cuffed and pinned the sleeves on. A red and silver maple leaf necklace hangs from his neck, glinting off the kitchen lights. “Would playing 20 questions help? Or does that make it harder?” 

“It’s...no, I just wanted to, um. Talk about us...doing things, I guess.” 

A moment of confusion flits over Patrice’s face, but he smooths it out as he comes to a realization. “Oh! Boundaries and stuff, yeah, okay. Have I been too pushy? I feel like I’ve been too pushy lately, I’m sorry about that.” 

“No, no, you've been...it’s been great. I want to do more, I just wanted to let you know. I’m, uh...I don’t really, well I do, but-” He’s stopped as Patrice reaches out, gently settling a warm hand on his knee. 

Grey eyes seek steady brown, and Patrice smiles softly. “Do you want me to start? Would that be easier?” 

Tuukka nods, biting his lower lip, hoping to get some time to get his frazzled mind together.

“Okay.” Patrice leaves his hand on Tuukka’s knee as he begins to speak. “Well, I think this kind of is obvious, but I’m not  _ that  _ into topping? I wouldn’t mind it but it’s not my preferred role. I like oral though, giving and receiving. And you don’t really strike me as this type of person, but I don’t really gravitate to, like, name calling? Derogatory, I mean, you can call me whatever you want for pet names, I don’t really care.” He smiles, warm and gentle, and squeezes Tuukka’s knee, just a little. 

“Did that...help at all?” 

“Yeah, it did.” At least he can respond in kind, though his answers are going to be a little more limited. “I don’t really have all that much experience bottoming, topping is more my, uh. Comfort zone. I’ve never had anyone suck me off though, so that would be nice.” 

He’s not imagining the way Patrice’s eyes darken a little as he admits to never having anyone go down on him before, but it’s not his fault. What little sexual experience he has is one-sided, especially as he entered college and didn’t know  _ what  _ was going on with him at any given moment. He gives a small smile, but presses on. “I don’t really think I’m much of the name calling type, but I don’t have much experience with that either.” 

Patrice tilts his head, and Tuukka’s reminded of a cat sizing up a bird that’s  _ just  _ outside of range. “Tuukka... _ have _ you done anything before?” He phrases it gently, and it’s one of the conclusions that Tuukka wanted Patrice to come to, but it’s not the main one. 

“...Yes and no.” He rolls his lips, collecting his thoughts. “I have, but it was before I started transitioning, so everything felt different. It wasn’t the best experience.” 

He lets the words hang in the air, watching Patrice for any minuscule reaction. Any reluctance or hesitation, he thinks, at this moment could very easily shatter him. But he doesn’t see any of that. He sees Patrice patiently looking at him, as if waiting for him to continue. 

A moment of silence passes, the two of them staring at each other. Eventually, Patrice asks, “Is that all you want me to know?” 

Relief and frustration hits him all at once. “Did...you hear me?” 

“Yes, I did.” He says it with a smile, squeezing his knee once again. “You’re a top with limited experience, who I  _ very  _ much want to blow, if you’d be comfortable with that. I’m probably going to be your first for a lot of things, and I’m excited for it, if you want to do those things with me. And, if we’re being completely honest, you being trans doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” 

At this point, his hand leaves Tuukka’s knee, sliding up a little further, dark brown eyes locking in on his own. “You’re  _ very  _ attractive, and funny, and talented, and I  _ really  _ want you. The thirst is real. No pressure, though, we’ll do this at your pace, but-” 

It’s a lot to be hearing all at once, and Tuukka leans forward and pulls Patrice into a kiss instead of letting him continue. It’s soft for the first few seconds, but then one of them deepens it, and suddenly Patrice’s hands are in Tuukka’s hair pulling him closer. Similar to the first time they kissed, it’s Patrice who moves first, dismounting the barstool and coming to stand between Tuukka’s legs. Tuukka grabs onto his waist, and the small noise Patrice makes in response makes his cheeks burn. 

“Where can I touch?” The question is mumbled against Tuukka’s mouth, but the importance of it comes through plenty clear. 

It takes only a brief thought. “Anywhere.” 

Patrice laughs softly against his mouth; a breathless, gentle laugh. “How far do you want to go?” 

At this, Tuukka has to think. It sucks to pull back, but he has to in order to collect his thoughts. He doesn’t have the necessary  _ equipment,  _ so to speak, to actually go all the way with Patrice in the way that he knows both of them would like. His toy collection is pretty limited to begin with, but maybe over time they can address that together. He’s pretty comfortable with how he looks, but he’s pretty sure at least  _ some  _ effort has to be expended leading up to sex, if not for comfort then for health reasons. He also has a criminal lack of any protection, and he trusts Patrice, but he still doesn’t know who his last partner was or how long ago, and as much as he’d like to have his mouth on him, he also wants to do this  _ right.  _

Patrice is still looking at him, brown eyes searching his own. Tuukka isn’t sure what he finds there, but he wants to speak, to let Patrice know that this isn’t just a one-off, but he’s not sure if  _ now  _ is the right moment. 

“I’m...not that far. Kissing’s okay, but I don’t, um. I’m not really ready for much beyond that.” He can feel his cheeks burn, but Patrice continues to surprise him with a gentle shrug and grin. 

“I figured as such. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s go make out on your couch.” He turns and grabs his glass of wine, knocking back the rest of it in one go, politely setting the glass back on the marble countertop. He holds one hand out for Tuukka expectantly. 

He’s not sure if it’s the fact that Patrice has been a complete angel for the entirety of this night, or if it’s the impressive way he just downed half a glass of wine in one gulp, but the only words out of Tuukka’s mouth are, “You’re  _ fucking  _ amazing,” in the most sincere, awestruck tone. 

Patrice giggles in response, perhaps a little wine drunk at this point. Hell, maybe they both are. The distant rumble of thunder echoes over the city as nightfall truly sets in. Darkness seeps between the buildings, highlighting the contrast between the inside of this small apartment and the outside world. Swaying a little with a mix of lightheaded euphoria and wine, Tuukka takes Patrice’s hand. 

It’s difficult work to make their way in the slowly dimming apartment back to the living room, limbs drunk with enthusiasm and alcohol. They make do, and Patrice winds up straddling Tuukka’s lap, kissing him with a feverish intent that makes Tuukka ache in several different places. It’s still sort of dark when Patrice asks, with a small tug of his fingers, if he can take Tuukka’s shirt off. 

Comforted by the darkness, Tuukka agrees, knowing its a good enough first step for the both of them. The brush of bare skin against bare skin is electrifying, and he dies a little when Patrice braces his hand against his chest and rolls his hips. “Just a taste of what’s to come,” he murmurs. 

Tuukka can only groan in response, reaching up to pull Patrice back in for another kiss. He feels the way Patrice draws his fingers over his biceps and yeah, it feels nice, but he didn’t expect him to  _ moan  _ at the touch. 

“They’re arms, babe.” 

“Yeah, but they’re  _ hot. _ ” The words are insistent and all encompassing, completely warding off any rebuttal or response that Tuukka may have had. 

In fact, they’re the last words spoken for quite a while. 

**Author's Note:**

> check out [the tag](https://matskreider.tumblr.com/tagged/au:-lofi-lovers), [the pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/weavermoon/lofi/), and my [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/matskreider)


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